


Seasoning

by Taste_of_Suburbia



Category: Ocean's Eleven Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Breaking and Entering, Domestic Fluff, Falling In Love, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Getting Together, Insecurity, Light Angst, Linus has it bad, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Romance, Rusty cooks for Linus, Rusty kinda has it bad too, Self-Esteem Issues, Trope Bingo Round 14, food and cooking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23843065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_of_Suburbia/pseuds/Taste_of_Suburbia
Summary: It’s not out of character for Rusty to make himself at home.He’s just the pinch of something Linus needs.
Relationships: Linus Caldwell/Rusty Ryan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 45
Collections: Trope Bingo: Round Fourteen





	Seasoning

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Trope Bingo Round 14 for the prompt [Food & Cooking](https://immolate-the-silence.dreamwidth.org/47728.html). This was meant to be a drabble but for some reason, drabbles are always unreasonable feats for me. This could probably also be seen as a prequel to [Central Heating](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23466748).
> 
> I should note that I am really ecstatic about the number of kudos on my two other Oceans pieces, so if you’re reading this and left kudos on one or both of those, thank you so very much. I have several more in the works and the kudos are a huge encouragement.

Linus could be mistaken when he hears something sizzling just beyond his door. His key is already in the lock and all he has left to do is turn it to the right and give the handle a firm shake and a rough twist to the left, but he also has half a mind to turn tail and bolt back down the three flights of stairs out into the bitter Chicago cold. It would be an easier decision if he wasn’t so under-dressed and irritable and foolishly determined to deal head-on with whomever is in his apartment.

He pauses longer than necessary, weighing his options, his stomach rumbling in discomfort at the unmistakable smell of food wafting out into the hallway where he agonizes.

Only one option then.

Linus does his finagling with the key and the handle and shuts the door quietly behind him. The kitchen is barely ten steps ahead and it’s already claimed by a a familiar figure with the tackiest dress shirt imaginable, clinging in all the right places. He’s rummaging through his cabinets and chopping forgotten vegetables and perpetually taste-testing, his back to Linus but no doubt perfectly aware he’s no longer alone.

He can smell Rusty _exactly_ where he is: cheap, greasy food and cologne and strawberries.

This is absolutely _not_ the time to be thinking about what Rusty smells like and recognizing it for the petty infatuation it is. He _desires_ Rusty and probably always has. He wants his scent permanently embedded in his sheets, not just its lingering traces from when Rusty washed them that one time.

Linus feels little more than an intruder as he stares openly at Rusty expertly handling a pan, _his_ pan.

“You’re in my apartment,” he interrupts. It’s the best thing he can come up with. Damn Rusty and his skills at doing _exactly_ what will make Linus Caldwell speechless.

The vegetable thief doesn’t turn around, adding some seasoning to the pan instead. “Keen observation skills, Linus.”

Why does Linus always have to feel so damn _giddy_ every time Rusty says his name? He has to be perceptive enough by now to recognize Linus’ schoolboy crush, but for the life of him he doesn’t acknowledge it. Maybe teases a little, pokes and prods and does completely intrusive things that will make Linus flush in embarrassment from all his long-denied _needs_. Maybe Rusty doesn’t know… and maybe Linus just needs to get a freaking _life._

“You’re _cooking_ in my apartment.” Again, _obvious. Get a grip, Linus._ Maybe he just wants Rusty to turn, maybe his pulse will stop racing then, maybe Rusty will wink and Linus will fall back and just relax in the moment that Rusty has constructed on his own questionable whims, a moment not meant to be anything more than the two of them hanging out in Linus’ sparse, lonely, definitely big enough for two apartment. “I didn’t… I didn’t even know you could cook.” He winces as soon as it comes out, hoping it doesn’t sound like an insult.

Rusty shrugs, silk shirt rippling along his shoulder blades and Linus moistens his lips. “Don’t tend to. Noticed you had some nice looking chops about to expire in your freezer though. Besides, when’s the last time you didn’t order takeout?”

Linus doesn’t even want to think about how Rusty might know that; has he been... spying on him? Monitoring his eating habits? He shudders at the intrusiveness of it, knows he should be outraged and would be if not for the warmth spreading through his belly at the undeniable proof that Rusty cares enough about him to look in on him.

If Linus wasn’t wound up so tight, Rusty would be forced out as nothing more than a stalker.

Then again, this _is_ Rusty. He doesn’t exactly do things like a normal person would.

As it is, Linus is more than just lonely; you could even go so far as to call him needy. Rusty is here and Linus will do or refrain from doing just about anything to keep him here.

The object of Linus’ deepest desires leans over and throws something into his fridge, his face turned just enough for Linus to catch his profile in fine detail. God, Rusty is _stunning._ He is muscled yet graceful, snarky and yet serious at the flip of a switch, confident and ever-guarded, so damn smart and cunning and _smooth_ that it almost drives Linus to pieces.

“Take a seat, it’s almost done,” Rusty persuades effortlessly, breaking Linus’ dangerous line of thinking. Everything about Rusty is effortless. He can actually see the gears moving in Danny’s head sometimes, trying to figure out how to make something work but with Rusty, it’s like he’s figured it all out before he even knows there’s something to figure out.

And then the realization hits Linus that Rusty isn’t just cooking for himself. He’s cooking for the _both_ of them.

Rusty _finally_ shoots him a look over his shoulder as if in confirmation. His grin is slow and sly and twists Linus into this desperate, emotional, over-appreciative _thing._ “How big a piece you want?”

“Smallest one is fine,” Linus answers automatically. Rusty’s the one cooking, after all. Plus, the man’s appetite is always bigger than anyone else’s, even if Linus hasn’t eaten since breakfast and it’s now trickling dangerously toward seven pm.

Rusty keeps up the conversation since it’s clear Linus isn’t in a fit state enough to do so. “Scalloped potatoes okay? There wasn’t much milk left but the cheese should flavor them well enough.”

Cheesy scalloped potatoes? Is it possible to love Rusty any more than he already does? Does his amazement know no bounds?

Linus nods, swallowing thickly. He doesn’t give his mouth permission to run away from his brain but it does anyway. “You can… stay here for the night if… if you need a place to crash.” In his head it sounds more like: _Please stay, I need you to stay because for once I’d like someone to talk to who doesn’t need to borrow money. For once I’d like to fall asleep knowing you’re just in the other room._

Rusty grins and then turns away again, keeping himself preoccupied which is _exactly_ what Linus should be doing but foolishly isn’t. “Was already planning on it, short stop.”

Really, he shouldn’t be surprised given the relatively late hour, but Linus has already come to expect Rusty making excuses, talking about all the things he has lined up, preparations he still needs to make. Rusty walking out the door without so much as a goodbye or a backward glance. Linus tries not to make it into a big deal because Rusty’s minimal on commitments and he _knows_ that it isn’t just him, but it’s hard to make anything having to do with him and Rusty _not_ personal.

“I’ll take the couch,” he offers, because they’ve already done this half a dozen times before and Rusty has never nor will ever take the couch. He’s always made his way into Linus’ bed somehow, with Linus already in it or not.

Rusty shoots him a mischievous glance. “We’ll get to that part a bit later. Let’s just sit down and eat first.”

And talk probably, not that Rusty is a talkative guy or anything. Danny yes, Danny would be striking up a conversation right now whether Linus liked it or not, asking personal question after personal question until he belatedly realizes there’s no point in keeping secrets when he knows Daniel Ocean. Rusty’s content enough usually to just sit in silence, making his own assumptions, setting Linus on edge.

Okay, then.

He shucks off his coat, unravels his scarf and busies himself by setting the table. He stays out of Rusty’s way as much as possible because he doesn’t want to interrupt the show he doesn’t even realize he’s putting on, all for Linus. Once there’s nothing left to collect, he retreats momentarily to his bedroom and dons a sweater, the warmest, softest, _cleanest_ one he can find because he can’t let the heating bill kill him again this month. Then Linus goes back to the kitchen before he can think better of it, nervously eyeing the bottle of wine on the table after he’s nitpicked the table settings for the upteenth time.

A swish of salmon pink out of the corner of his eye and Linus startles back to awareness, his mouth watering at the tantalizing display of food just placed in front of him. It looks both healthy and sinful: juicy meat and mixed vegetables and potatoes dripping with enough cheese to give a diabetic a heart attack.

Rusty’s claimed the chair across from Linus’ at the small table, where they’re barely two feet apart, and he’s already digging in, practically inhaling the potatoes and only stopping to take a breath once he realizes Linus is watching him. In response, he sits back, the sight of him languidly stretching out an even more tantalizing sight than the food. He wipes his mouth politely and motions to Linus’ plate. It takes him a beat to remember that Rusty isn’t asking for his plate, like he usually is when Linus’ mind is on things other than food.

“Eat up, kid. Hope you enjoy.”

Realizing it would be rude not to shut his gaping mouth and stop his senseless love gazing, Linus focuses on the food Rusty has so, dare he say it, _lovingly_ prepared for him.

He eats appreciatively, not rushing, wanting to enjoy every bite, every taste bud bursting with eagerness on his tongue, even if the cheese does tend to overpower it all. Still, the spices Rusty used on the pork chops, spices he acquired from god knows where since Linus’ budget doesn’t extend to frivolous cooking purchases, nothing more really than just the bare basics, are _amazing_ , for lack of a more fitting word. He doesn’t ever really remember having a piece of meat this good and wonders what he’s done to deserve this.

Did Rusty just get bored and was in the area? Or did he fly out specifically to see what Linus had in his pantry?

Linus would be overwhelmed by joy if he wasn’t somewhat suspicious, if he wasn’t thinking about all the ways this could go wrong, all the reasons he wants Rusty to have for being here that probably had never crossed his mind and even if they had, aren’t in the _slightest_ true or practical. Rusty isn’t a guy who makes attachments. He isn’t selfless or thoughtful and he most _certainly_ didn’t come out here for Linus.

And he probably thought Linus would be desperate enough to have him here to not really care.

He would be right.

He won’t, however, _always_ be right. There will come a time when Linus will get sick of having his heart dragged around like this. Granted, Rusty isn’t exactly taking advantage of him, or leading him on in any sense of the word. It’s just how Linus feels.

Linus’ crush is through no fault of Rusty’s. Sure, he teases, straying a little too close to flirting for Linus’ caving in sanity; gets up in Linus’ space and convinces him to do stupid, embarrassing things he doesn’t want to do; has left him hanging more often than not with a final, enigmatic sentence or a wink or just the barest hint of a smile.

Okay, yeah, Rusty _is_ taking it a _little_ too far.

His thoughts are much too loud and he finally has the good sense to cut them off. Not in time, however; Rusty’s already done long before he’s halfway through his plate and Linus can feel his eyes pry him open without his permission.

Scratch that, Rusty does _everything_ without his permission.

Linus hurriedly finishes and pushes his plate away, only to realize that Rusty has let him be for the time being.

It’s Linus who watches now, studying Rusty the way he used to when they worked together, quiet and intense and longing. He studies Rusty like he hasn’t got him all figured out, because he hasn’t and he’s not foolish enough to imagine he ever will. It’s not the first time he thinks about what Rusty sees in him, if he sees some stupid wannabe or someone with just enough promise to keep his attention.

It’s been more than eight months since they’ve done a job together and sure, they’ve kept in touch, with Danny usually acting as the go-between because, let’s face it, Danny sees it as some type of duty to check in on him and he and Rusty have even _less_ to talk about.

Why the hell is Rusty even here?

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” he pushes, just a bit, searching for conversation because from the way Rusty’s shoulders are set and the way his eyes wander around his kitchen, it seems like he has quite a lot on his mind. And yeah, Linus might not be the best sounding board, but he’s always prided himself on being a good listener and he wants to help Rusty, really, even more right now than he wants to kiss him.

Then again, that could be due to the fact that Rusty seems more than a little distracted, and Linus doesn’t want to think about kissing him when he’s got things on his mind other than just that _one_ thing.

Not that Rusty would ever kiss him, just…

The current center of Linus’ world takes a sip of wine, already on his third glass and Linus wonders whether he should take him up on the offer. Rusty rolls it around in his mouth for a beat before swallowing it down in one gulp and focusing on Linus again. Liquid courage, he supposes, and he’s practically on the edge of his seat now. “Just came off a long job. Tiring, over-complicated, didn’t get paid worth a damn.” Rusty runs a hand over his face, tanned and slender and Linus has to force himself to glance away.

He can _feel_ that hand smoothing over his cheek, sliding to the back of his head and turning it where Rusty wills so he can kiss him more thoroughly.

He can _feel_ that hand grasping his throat to hold him in place and then easing, centering him, a steadying weight on his chest as he’s pushed back against a wall.

He can _feel_ that hand rustling his hair, tugging his head down, fingers tracing invisible trails of love into his stomach and side and back, fingers wrapping around him, cupping him and pulling him _close…_

“Yeah?” Linus prods a little further, snapping back like a rubber band permitted too much give. He keeps his voice low, soft and gently questioning. He doesn’t want Rusty to catch onto how desperate he is for just a tidbit of _something._ But Rusty doesn’t catch onto anything; his eyes are clouded again, fingers picking at the label on the bottle of wine.

The worry is like a lead ball in his chest, inch-by-inch expanding, crowding in on his lungs.

“Rusty, did… did something happen?”

Rusty gives him a look that will make anyone drop anything, no matter how important. “Sometimes things happen, Linus, that make you realize you’re exactly where you deserve to be.”

“…Okay?” Linus fixes his gaze on the scarred, wooden surface of the table, trying to ascertain whether he’s been forcibly shut out. After a long, uncomfortable beat he rises, reaching for Rusty’s empty plate, so vacant it looks as if it’s been licked clean, but he doesn’t quite make it there before a hand grabs his.

And Linus braves glancing up, despite knowing better.

He’s offered a small, _indulgent_ smile, a question and an acknowledged connection. It lights up his insides like nothing else could, a match striking a fire so hot it uses his bones for kindling. It’s an intense ache, a heat so searing he almost can’t breathe through it.

Either Rusty wants more food, dessert probably or…

“Any changes in your life in the last two months?”

_Any boyfriends? Any prospects?_

The hand covering his own grows warmer, heavier, more restrictive. “You know there haven’t been,” he boldly states. Maybe Rusty’s comfort zone is keeping track of Linus: stalking him, once every month or two buying him groceries or popping in to do his laundry when he’s out, over-analyzing his lack of a dating life and pitifully dwindling social life. Maybe Rusty is giving him room to lie and break away.

Linus just wants the basics: Rusty kissing him stupid, Rusty sharing his bed and having the decency to still be in it the next morning, Rusty actually having some semblance of an honest conversation with him.

Or none of the above and just Rusty, more than rarely but sometimes, often, whenever.

_Only_ Rusty.

He’s breathing harder now, practically panting, the sudden heat in the room stifling though it’s probably more the rising temperature of his blood, the way his head is throbbing from what feels like heatstroke, the way his palm embarrassingly sweats under Rusty’s, the way his heart keeps pumping blood, too much blood, until it’s filling up his chest and he’s drowning in it…

Rusty can’t do this, not now, not _ever…_

“Take a breath, kid,” Rusty reminds, teases, hand that was just moments ago wrapped around his wine glass settling on Linus’ hip until Linus is almost _certain_ Rusty’s about to pull him into his lap… and then he does.

And this time Linus isn’t dreaming, fantasizing, whatever.

He doesn’t stop Rusty, doesn’t push him away, just let’s Rusty taste him, his tingling mouth, his sweat soaked neck, his cheek and his temple and even his eyelids, let’s Rusty take everything he wants, everything he came here for. Hopes Rusty doesn’t pull back, quickly sated. Hopes Rusty isn’t disappointed.

Until Rusty pokes him hard in the side and insistently reprimands him about not breathing again.

And Linus does, drawing in a ragged breath but only because Rusty takes it easy on him. His fingers pet through Linus’ hair and trail teasingly down Linus’ neck and his mouth is sealed onto Linus’ skin and it could just be a rush of blood to the head, but he swears he can feel Rusty smile and feeling it pressed into his skin is a _thousand_ times better than seeing it in person, because there’s even a _part_ of him that can make Rusty _that_ happy, even if just for a few moments.

Somehow, his brain seems to have disconnected from his mouth again. Rusty brushes a kiss over his lips, possessive and giving at the same time. “You _always_ make me happy, Linus. You just can’t see it.”

_Yeah, because you don’t_ let _me._

Because Rusty isn’t guarded but he isn’t exactly _open_ either.

Because Rusty doesn’t talk about what he feels, or show it, until now.

Having a lack of anything better to say, usually pretty good with words but all of them failing him now, Linus licks his lips, reveling in the taste of Rusty drenching them, and says the first thing that comes to mind. “Dinner was really good.”

Rusty chuckles, shifts until Linus is more firmly in his lap and then pinches his belly, nipping his ear to distract him. “I like to spoil the people I care about with good food.”

“Yeah?” He swallows, Rusty’s thumb pressed into his naval and his throat and finally sliding over his gums driving him _mad._ His voice shakes no matter how hard he presses the words out. “Well, it worked.”

Rusty presses a quick kiss to his chin and Linus practically _glows._ “Knew it would.”

* * *

Linus never imagined they’d make it to his bed so early.

Or that they’d go to his bed, _together_ , at all _._

There are too many clothes, too many unspoken words between them and it’s like Rusty’s tongue is peeling them all away before they can start to nag Linus, because actions beat words anytime even though Linus _needs_ words, needs promises spoken in the light, not obscured in the dark. He needs _soft,_ strong words that will make him feel whole in Rusty’s eyes, not just a fling, not just a sometime thing, not just a sideliner easily pleased with good home-cooked food and a good, quick fuck.

Linus is more than a temporary fix, _goddamn it_.

“Stop thinking,” Rusty murmurs, chastising more than grousing. He kisses away the tenseness in Linus’ shoulders, tongue squirming and sucking and mouth squeezing him like a piece of ripe, juicy fruit. If Linus wasn’t so enamored of Rusty eating then maybe that wouldn’t turn him on as much as it does. He can’t get over how _good_ he smells and his mouth repeatedly finds the other man’s, over and over despite Rusty’s boredom and impatience consistently distracting him to move onto other areas.

It probably has a whole lot to do with Linus being self-conscious. Kissing is easier, not Rusty licking and nipping and practically slurping almost as if he’s in the throes of worship.

Rusty sighs, practically glued to Linus’ pale, thin waist, pillowing his head there and breathing desire into Linus’ sensitive skin with every sharp inhale and forceful exhale. “ _Relax_.”

Linus pouts because that’s easier said, _demanded_ , than actually done. In response, Rusty lifts his head and rudely pinches his cheek, _always_ amused and _always_ at Linus’ expense, but his frenetic energy slows regardless. Linus runs a hand through the blond hair while he can, reverently almost, and it’s longer than it usually is but it suits him; hell, pretty much _anything_ would suit Rusty. _This_ is just one of the many tunnels his head is jammed into for an inconvenient ride. He can’t stop _thinking_ , they haven’t even _done_ anything yet and he already can’t stop over-analyzing and dwelling and worrying about tomorrow, when he’ll be alone again and he’ll be disgusted with himself and feel worthlessly wretched with his red, swollen eyes and his well-fed but aching stomach and his hoarse, sandpaper throat.

The man so ridiculously close to his heart right now it’s too much and too pathetic stops analyzing his belly button and glances up at him in expectation. He’s waiting, waiting for permission even though he already has it; he’s _always_ had it.

Then again…

“Tell me you’re not out the door tomorrow.” He’s not doing this if it’s just something Rusty will walk off after the fact, like a bad mistake, like a good memory to keep him warm when he’s lonely but with no substance behind it.

Rusty bites down on his bottom lip so hard he draws blood; Linus catches the bead with his thumb.

“Don’t be an idiot, Linus. If I couldn’t last two weeks without seeing you, walking out the door now won’t do me much good. If you make room for me, I’ll be here.” He nuzzles Linus’ stomach, his bedraggled hair and breath tickling him in _all_ the right places. “Besides, I’m kinda crazy about you, kiddo, or haven’t you gotten that yet?”

Oh yeah, Linus thinks he’s gotten that fairly well, though it’s usually hard to tell with Rusty. “Crazy enough to stay.”

“For the short-term, yeah, let’s try this thing out. Take it one step at a time.”

_I won’t let you go so easily,_ Linus promises. _I_ can’t _let you go so easily._

Rusty kisses his forehead, soft lips lingering. “Let me in. I won’t run.”

Linus squirms, settles when he entangles his fingers with Rusty’s, allowed that small, desperate act of intimacy without Rusty pulling away. That electric, multi-flavored mouth finds his again, a kiss that’s slow and sweet, and it has Linus thinking about dessert and patience and how people just may be able to change after all, given the right reasons.

And in the morning when Rusty wakes him with another kiss, sloppy but making it seem so effortless, he can still taste the seasoning on his tongue.

**FIN**

**Author's Note:**

> Uh… this is a _lot_ sappier and long-winded than I intended and hopefully somewhat in character, so please be kind?


End file.
